


linger

by hikari (sincerelysame)



Category: Haikyuu!!, ハイパープロジェクション演劇「ハイキュー!!」| Hyper Projection Play "Haikyuu!!" RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Scenting, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15972056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincerelysame/pseuds/hikari
Summary: Scenting is a perfectly platonic, even familial, action.(Until it's not.)





	linger

**Author's Note:**

> I just needed BokuAka.

Scenting is a gesture of affection. It's a sign of trust and companionship, a reassurance that someone is safe and not alone.

It is a perfectly platonic, and even familial, action. Alphas scent in friendly camaraderie, in greeting, and in appraisal. Omegas scent in search of tactile stimulation and security. Even Betas scent for the comfort of another human being. It's a normal, natural thing, nothing to be threatened or alienated by.

Which is why the sharp alarm that zips under Koutarou's skin is particularly unreasonable.

* * *

It's dark out again, they may have stayed too long, but the perfect toss culminating into the perfect spike sends a rush through him that is rivaled by little else.

Koutarou exclaims as if a successful spike without any blockers is still a success, leaping along their side of the court in a strange dance-run.

Akaashi catches his breath, his eyes still on the ball across the gym.

Koutarou is still vibrating with enthusiasm, stopping just for a moment to reach out for Akaashi's arm and tug while he's still panting and distracted.

Akaashi is shoved under his chin in a fraction of a second as he hops in place. Koutarou runs the tip of his nose on the hairline behind Akaashi's ear.

It's a familiar process. Toss, spike, slam. Grab, pull, hold. He breathes in deep on instinct.

Koutarou likes doing this, especially since he can't when anyone else is still around.

Akaashi only lets him when no one else is around.

There's nothing like the way Akaashi smells right after a good spike from his toss, his usually crisp, citrusy scent spiced with something subtle and deep like quiet excitement.

It's a prize, a reward, as gratifying as a "Not bad, Bokuto-san."

And there it is. Citrus. Like limes in ice or crushed mint leaves. Clean and sweet in the back of his throat. Koutarou takes another sniff, nuzzling closer, searching for the heat of pride in Akaashi's scent, so primal and more visceral than his expressions can convey or hide.

And he finds it like a treasure in the middle of a maze. Hoards every bit of it like a madman on the hunt for gold.

Then he smells it.

As the only Omega on the starting line-up this year, Akaashi is treated differently. It's not like last year, with upperclassmen who were condescending and obnoxious until Coach Yamiji beat the prejudice out of them through intense, rigorous training, and who Akaashi more than wiped the floor with their egos using clever strategies and tenacity. It's a soft kind of fondness for their perpetually exhausted, exasperated vice-captain who deals with way too much of their shit.

Kaori likes the way Akaashi braids her hair after their morning session. Yukie always has coupons for dessert buffets and ramen nights all across Tokyo, and she will always slip Akaashi one. Washio would report how he did not make any children from the park across his apartment complex cry today. Komi lives for ruffling their setter's messy bedhead. Sarukui makes vaguely unsettling commentary about the most random things that would make Akaashi chuckle. Onaga looks at his upperclassman like he hung the stars in the sky half the time.

Basically, the Fukurodani Volleyball team is very very sweet on their resting bitch-faced, no nonsense, silently aggressively caring setter.

So it isn't out of the ordinary for Yukie to poke the baby fat on Akaashi's cheeks and leave a trail of her cookies and creme scent on his face.

Or Komi's palms smearing pheromones into his scalp.

The relatively mild aroma of Konoha pinched into the fabric of his shoulder where Konoha would rest his elbows.

Sarukui sometimes swiped sweat off of Akaashi's brow with the back of his hand, a typical kindness to do for a younger Omega.

Washio would rub his wrists over Akaashi's temples whenever he had too bad a migraine. Contact and the scent of someone familiar always helped.

Kaori and Onaga, their resident owlets, are both huggers.

And though not an openly physical person, Akaashi is receptive to every gentle touch their team, their friends, would shower him in.

Koutarou isn't sure why he's particularly sensitive to it now, detecting every scent on Akaashi that isn't, well, Akaashi's.

Too sweet cake cream on his cheek.

Rubber and curry in his hair.

Sandalwood on his practice shirt.

Salt on his forehead. Jasmine near the temples.

Powder and something like baby Alpha sticking to his arms and chest.

It's ridiculous. The layer upon layer of scents and pheromones on Akaashi felt obscene in a way Koutarou couldn't explain but fundamentally understood.

"Bokuto-san?"

Koutarou blinks back into awareness, slightly befuddled then horrified.

In his stupor, he had moved from Akaashi's ears to his neck, rubbing furiously at the scent glands there.

The glands are not raw as Koutarou expects but they are slightly flushed, a little more prominent than they were a few minutes or an hour ago. He tries to swallow the stupid disappointment he feels that they aren't red and throbbing like his own neck feels.

The air smells like mint. Like metal. Anyone could put their tongue out and taste something refreshing, something like gold.

"Maybe we should stop for tonight. You shouldn't wear yourself out." Akaashi's hair hangs over his face as he pulls away, sounding bemused and maybe a little out of breath.

"Yeah, yeah, okay." Koutarou usually puts up more of a fight. He whines for another toss, just one more, before begrudgingly shooting balls into carts as Akaashi meticulously starts rolling the net.

But not tonight. It's quieter tonight and while they start mopping up from opposite sides of the court, Koutarou swallows down the urge to crowd Akaashi under the shower and demand he uses the strongest grade of medical anti-scent soap they have.

* * *

He would have ran off as soon as he could but Koutarou couldn't just leave. It's late and though Akaashi is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, Koutarou still wants to do it for him, to make sure he's safe even if for his own peace of mind. He always wants to.

Akaashi won't look at him. The streets are poorly lit so his face is not only unreadable but unseeable, if that's even a word.

Koutarou usually fills the time with chatter. He always has something to share especially with Akaashi. And Akaashi would hum, and nod. If Koutarou tries really hard, he can get a few sentences or even a little laugh from Akaashi, more than Sarukui could.

The walk back is tense and fraught with nervous energy.

Koutarou doesn't know why they've shifted so quickly, so suddenly, and he has no idea how to right things. They haven't fought, nothing has changed, and though he hasn't done anything technically hurtful he feels like he should apologize.

_I'm sorry I weirdly noticed that, wow, you get scented a lot._

_I'm sorry I don't know why I don't like it anymore._

_I'm sorry I touched you like a mate would._

"Take care, Bokuto-san. Thank you for walking me home."

Akaashi's front door clicks shut and it's cold outside without him.

Mate.

He touched Akaashi.

Held him and nuzzled him.

Rubbed his face in his neck and pressed Akaashi under his chin.

Like a _mate_ would.

He stares into the outside light of Akaashi's apartment until shadows of colors wander under his eyelids.

_Mate._

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> Presentations:
> 
> Yukie- Alpha  
> Kaori- Beta  
> Konoha- Beta  
> Washio- Beta  
> Sarukui- Alpha  
> Komi- Alpha  
> Onaga- Alpha
> 
> Bokuto- Alpha  
> Akaashi- Omega


End file.
